Disclaimer: I own nothing; I just like to toy with them.
Feedback: Pretty please? It makes me feel special.
Rating: PG-13, for language
Spoilers: A bunch for Not Fade Away.
Note: This takes place a year or so after the events of NFA. It is not, however, a story about NFA. It's about what happened way after. A crossover, of sorts, with Buffy the Vampire Slayer. There will be no resurrecting dead characters, from either Buffy or Angel. Enjoy.
Bill leaned against the side of his cubicle, fighting the urge to scream. Another Wednesday, another pointless day of working for a company that he hated. He ran a hand through the riotous mass of curls that was his brownish-blonde hair and sighed. He peeked up over the top of the cubicle. His boss, Mr. Haddon, was nowhere in sight. Bill quickly began a game of Tetrus. The perfect way to waste time.
Lunch break came, and Bill stared blankly for a moment at the vending machine that had swallowed each and every one of his quarters and given him nothing in return. He punched in the number for a bag of Lays again. Nothing. "Argh!" Bill screamed as he began to shake, kick, and generally abuse the thieving vending machine.
"Hey Bill. What're ya doing?" Drew Jansen asked as he entered the break room.
"Raging against the machine," Bill replied, still shaking the machine, which continued to smugly deny him his greasy, salted snack food of choice.
"Did it eat your money again?" Drew was not the fastest rat in the maze.
"No Drew, it insulted my mother." Bill was, on the whole, irritated by Drew for obvious reasons. Drew also looked suspiciously like Shaggy from "Scooby Doo" and had the same basic thought processes as well. But the badly-trimmed brunette was also as close as Bill came to a friend in his sad life, and thus Drew had to be handled with a certain amount of delicacy.
"Hey, I got that Ghost of the Robot CD. Did I tell you one of the band members looks almost exactly like you?" asked Drew as he cheerfully sat down and munched on his pretzels.
"No Drew," Bill ground out, not particularly eager to hear this story again. "Why don't you tell me?"
"Well he does," Drew chattered, unaware of Bill's disdain. "Same weird cheekbones and everything."
"Yes, only a few of us in the world are blessed with exceptionally hollow cheekbones." Bill lowered his voice until only he could hear it. "You complete ponce." Bill was never quite sure why he used 'ponce' as an insult. It wasn't as if anyone in Rhode Island would have any knowledge of English slang. He wasn't even sure how he knew it. But it always seemed right, and the blonde didn't care enough to try and stop doing it. As always, he craved a cigarette.
"Me and Jennifer are hooking up later tonight," Bill mentioned through his turkey sandwich. "I think we might actually get to do it at her place." Bill grimaced. Jennifer had a high-pitched laugh and looked like she was badly in need of a sandwich. At least he has a girlfriend, Bill thought to himself. Then he thought about Italian food, for some reason.
On the drive home, Bill reflected on his life while listening to the Sex Pistols and singing along. He could become a singer and escaped his job as an office drone. He had a good voice, he could move to Hollywood, hang out with the stars, kick back and relax as the state of California fell off the continent.
Bill parked in front of his apartment and climbed the stairs to the second level, looking forward to a microwave dinner and watching Office Space for the eighth time this month, which was the only way he could manage to get through the day. The man unlocked his door and threw his keys on the counter. He had his jacket halfway off before he turned around and realized that his living room was full of strangers.
"Holy Mother of God!" Bill shrieked as he staggered backwards against the door. There were four people, to be exact, and they seemed relaxed but alert.
"Oh my God, that's him," gasped a blonde woman who, like Jennifer, could've used a sandwich, something that wasn't from Subway. Her hair was done in a simple but lovely bun, and something about her unsettled the already very unsettled Bill.
"His hair is different though," commented a dark haired man with an eye patch, who had his feet propped up on Bill's coffee table. "Guess he hasn't discovered peroxide yet."
"Who the hell are you people?!" Bill screamed, hoping to attract the attention of his neighbors. He had locked his door on the way end, because this side of town, while not exactly the worst, was certainly not the best. Bill was incapable of opening doors without fumbling with the keys and he truly didn't want to turn his back on these people for any amount of time.
"You are..." an older British man in glasses squinted at a sheet of paper and a small corner of his mouth quirked up slightly, "William Bloody?"
"It's pronounced Bluh-day," Bill corrected automatically. "It's French or something." He shook his head, feeling like an idiot. What was he doing talking to the intruders in house like he knew them, or at least wasn't afraid of them? "Get the hell out of here, now!" He hoped he sounded manly and forceful, as opposed to terrified.
"Really can't," Eye patch spoke again, getting up from the couch. The others also rose and started moving towards Bill.
"Who are you?" he asked again, backing towards the bedroom, where he kept a handgun in his nightstand.
"You really don't remember us?" asked the kind looking woman with red hair and green eyes. "The magicks involved in that...yikes. And your accent's gone and everything."
"We're your friends," Skinny Blonde soothed, holding up her hands to show she was unarmed. Like that's going to reassure me. I don't like most of my friends anyway, Bill thought, still backing towards the door.
"I'm not," Eye patch chimed in. The red haired woman slapped him lightly on the arm and hissed, "Xander, you're not helping." These people were clearly insane. It was time to make his move.
Hoping to get the gun quickly, before the intruders had a chance to react, Bill whirled and raced towards the bedroom doorway. Only to run straight into what felt like a wall. I could swear the door was open, Bill thought woozily. He then looked up, trying to see what he'd hit. And discovered that there were in fact five strangers in his apartment.
The man he had run into leaned against the doorframe, looking down at Bill, alomst expressionless. He had dark hair that was gelled up and chocolate colored eyes. The stranger was dressed completely in black and he held up Bill's gun. "Going for this? I wouldn't."
Bill gulped. Something about this man was almost painfully familiar, and also highly unsettling. He got slowly to his feet. The people surrounded him on all sides and he leaned against the counter that separated his kitchenette from his living room, feeling trapped and terrified. "Look," he half-laughed, half-gasped, "my car keys are on the table. My wallet is in my coat and has all my credit cards. My PIN number is my birthday. You can have my money and car, whatever, fine. Just," Bill gulped again, "just don't kill me."
Hair Gel cocked his head to the side. "Why would you think we were going to kill you?" he asked sharply.
"Oh please. I've seen all the 20/20 shows and cop dramas. I know how this works," Bill sneered, trying to become bigger than he was, to fight these intruders in his life. They would bring him no good, he was sure of that,
Eye patch, apparently Xander, laughed. "I don't believe it. Spike's become a nerd."
"What do spikes have to do with any of this?" Bill asked, trying to decipher the language of these people.
"Enough," said the British man. He looked at Bill steadily. "We are not here to harm or rob you. My name is Giles. That's Xander," he pointed at Eye patch, confirming what Bill had assumed, "There is Buffy," Skinny Blonde girl, "this is Willow," the redhead, "and this..." Giles paused for a moment as he stared at the tall, dark, looming individual, who was still holding the gun.
"My name's Angel," the man proclaimed quietly, after a moment.
"Oh, how nice," Bill laughed, semi-hysterical. "We all have names. Why should I care? 'Cause, if you aren't after my money and things, then what exactly are you after?"
"This is going to sound kind of insane, um...William?" Buffy guessed, trying to seem non-threatening. Nothing doing, Bill thought as he tried to subtly back away. Something's scary about her. Just like Angel.
"I don't really, er, go by 'William'," Bill muttered, after Buffy's comment had registered with him. "It's Bill, mostly."
"Well then, Bill," Buffy nodded reassuringly, or tried to anyway, "this is going to sound kind of insane. But we...well, we need you to help save the world from vampires, demon, and the forces of darkness."
Bill blinked. They weren't joking. They really weren't joking. "You're right. It does sound insane. And following that line of thought...huh?"
"Vampires are real, so are demons, the world is filled with them and their slightly more scary masters," Willow explained. "We fight them. Buffy is a Vampire Slayer. I'm a witch. Angel is a vampire too, but he has a soul. Xander and Giles," she glanced at them sheepishly, "are human. And they fight too."
"Very nice summary, Will," Xander commented. Willow beamed.
Bill was understandably distressed. He had thought that these people were crazy before. Now he had proof. It was possible they were on drugs. Always wondered why the teachers were so adamant on saying no to crack. Now I understand why. "Well, that's all very nice and disturbing," Bill smiled calmingly in a talking-to-lunatics voice. "I'll be sure and lock my doors at night."
"He doesn't believe us," Angel stated. Bill grimaced. Angel made him nervous by just existing. He's pale enough to be a vampire, I suppose. But dressing completely in black is an obvious rip-off of Dracula or something.
"What would you do, if we weren't blocking your way?" Giles questioned, looking mildly curious.
"I would call the police, let them test you for drugs and mental disorders, then never think of any of you ever again." Honesty was sometimes the best policy.
Buffy casually reached over and ripped the phone and cradle from the wall. Bill goggled. This petite woman looked like eye-gouging and pepper spray were her only forms of defense, but that was clearly not the case. Still...
"Okay, but that doesn't necessarily prove anything." Bill gestured to his fallen phone. "The walls are thin and crumbling and..." he was suddenly furious. These people had come into his house and told him lies and scared the hell out of him, and now they were just staring at his disbelief in amusement. He threw his arms and yelled, "This is such bullshit! You're just some losers who like to play pretend, or creeps that like to mess with people. Either way, I'm not playing along, so just save yourselves some time and leave!"
Angel sighed suddenly. "Always the hard way with you, isn't it?" Then his face changed, for lack of a better word. His forehead became ridged and teeth sharpened to jagged points. He was a much more convincing vampire now.
Bill began making strange, choking noises that he hardly believed could come from his own throat. His head shook back and forth frantically, while the rest of his body just shook. The terrified man looked into Angel's golden, predatory eyes and sat down suddenly, unable to stay standing. Angel stared at him on the floor for a moment longer, and then his face faded back to its handsome human features.
"I believe you now," Bill squeaked, wishing he didn't sound so frightened. "Please leave."
"We can't," Giles said. "We've already told you. We need your help."
"I don't know anything!" Bill was frantic. "I don't know about demons or monsters. Up until today, I didn't even think they were real."
"Yes you did," Angel disagreed, reaching forward suddenly and dragging Bill to his feet. "You just don't remember who you are."
"Who am I?" This isn't real, Bill tried to tell himself. But he wasn't even sure what real was, as of the last five minutes.
"You were a vampire named Spike. You helped save the world." Angel winced, almost imperceptibly. "You became human."
"Oh." Oh hell. This couldn't be good.